


Clearly the Boy’s Been Watching Basic Instinct

by Pop_O



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack, It's Unclear, M/M, Or a Shield Boy Scout, Sooo much Crack, Steve Might Be A Sex-Fiend, Steve Rogers is Devious and Adorable, Steve's Introduction to Pop Culture Might Kill Tony, This is Why Tony Never Sleeps, Whipped Tony is whipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:31:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pop_O/pseuds/Pop_O
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve just wants to be prepared for any enemy. Furbies, Gremlins, Muppets—whatever comes. Or maybe he just wants Tony to be his sex-slave. Either way, Tony’s never sleeping again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I knew you would be reluctant," Steve says, keeping the rhythm as Tony abandons sleep altogether, "but I'm prepared to offer incentives."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clearly the Boy’s Been Watching Basic Instinct

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someidiothasice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someidiothasice/gifts).



_It mostly starts off with--_

Well, if Tony's going to be historically accurate he'd say it started off in 1939 when Erskine-- _(Bless him, the doctor's influenced some of Tony's early work, see ages 5 through 8, but he must have been dabbling in some serious hallucinogens when he agreed to this)_ \--decided to mutate a nineteen-year old, hundred pound slip of a boy into a bulked-up, neurotic insomniac with superpowers. 

Or he'd say it started a few decades later when the original Stark let his son sip coffee for the first time. 

That spawned a two-decade saga of late nights blurring into early mornings. Sleepless weeks where he ran on three hours naps; the pure adrenaline rush of a new project; the endorphin hit of sex and caffeinated bliss. But that careened into more. Divebombed into _too much_. Because when you're a sixteen-year-old genius with every possible substance at your fingertips, no one to say no, and the adoring chorus of each groupie who showed up to the party your life is becoming, it's hard to slow down. To pace yourself.

Tony knows all about pacing himself now. 

Feels it in that fucking rib that never quite healed right; the hiccup in his chest where he feels the phantom touch of Pepper's scared, sure hands; the twinge in his back from the one and only godforsaken time he'd thought it would be fun to fight Thor. Tony knows all about raging hard. He invented the never-ending party. 

And just like everyone had predicted --from Pepper to the columnist who's dedicated her entire life to tracking his next move--he got tired of it. Settled down and traded it in for a nice, quiet life as a _celebrated superhero, genius billionaire_ minus the playboy. Which is why he's in bed at two am, appreciating a nice hazy dream where his first ex--(this thirty year old knock-out who’d been a Mrs. Robinson after his fifteen-year old heart)--and her brother are applying are demonstrating all possible interpretations of the full-service massage, when firm fingers tug at his shoulder. 

Yanking him out of a dream for the third time that week. 

Any other time he'd be happy to have Steve _(and of course it's fucking Steve because who else has this little respect for Tony's sleep, not to mention the code to Tony's room and strong fingers that Tony's really, really well acquainted with)_ in his bed. 

"Gremlins--shoot 'em. Not even real babe, I told you, I promise--" Tony mumbles incoherently. He hopes that pacifies Steve tonight, because Tony still feels the lazy pull of that dream and knows he could still slip back to sleep. 

"Tony..." Fingers trail up his spine as Steve waits for him to turn over. But Tony Is Not moving. 

Clint and his entire movie collection can go fuck himself. Tony doesn't care what Clint's shown him this time but he really doesn't care. Clint’s such a fucking menace. Tony's so tempted to get his hands on those arrows and one by one take them apart. One bad movie choice could pass, but not _ten in a row._ Not ten in a row spread over 14 days. All Tony wants to do is sleep.

And sleep is still possible. 

Maybe. 

The fingers are sliding along the lines of his boxers now, dipping into the curve of his ass. A light, playful pressure. _Teasing._

Steve's lips brush his ear. "Tony," he whispers. 

And really, any other time Tony would be out of the boxers and straddling Steve's lap, sucking bruises into his neck and fisting his hair. But Tony's been down this road before. It ends in truly useless questions "What are the muppets? What would one do in case of invasion" to "If we were in a matrix, how would we (know)..." 

Steve's teeth rake against that spot behind his ear. 

God dammit. Now Tony’s body is revolting against him and urging him to roll over. 

_This is the problem. This is what happens when you get close to people._ They take that knowledge and use it to exploit you. They wake you up in the middle of the night with contingency plans against the potential invasion from the Hellmouth or body-snatching Aliens (thank you _The Faculty_ for ruining the joys of recreational coke for him forever) or--in the honest to god strangest turn of events--furbies. 

That's not counting the robots, recreated dinosaurs (and no, no, no they were never coming back, frozen genetic sample his ass) or mind controlled suburban moms. "Baby," Tony croaks as Steve's fingers knead his ass. "I promise, whatever it is, it isn't actually real. It can't actually happen. And it's no reason to be a fucking tease." 

Steve eases his boxers down in reply. "Have you heard of mind-heist? It could be happening right now Tony. How would we know? They do it while you sleep. Sleeping in shifts is the safest way--the only way to know no one's slipped into our minds. Think of our secrets." 

At this Tony cracks his eye open, to Steve's very very solemn eyes. _Fuck his whole life._

How can anyone look that earnest when they are doing the things Steve's fingers are doing? 

"I just--fuuck," Tony's voice cuts entirely as Steve strokes him slow and easy. 

"I knew you would be reluctant," Steve says, keeping the rhythm as Tony abandons sleep altogether, "but I'm prepared to offer incentives." 

_It starts off with a simple question and Clint's voice raising in surprise--"You never saw this?”_ And then the invitation Tony should have cut off, would have cut off if he'd been as committed to afternoon quickies as his 30 year old self, "Come sit down." Fuck Clint Barton. Fuck every movie he's every owned. Every movie he's ever watched. And fuck the fucking bromance between those two. Tony's happy Steve has another friend--a bro--since he's all of 5 decades off _everything on earth_ , but all Tony wants is a night of uninterrupted sleep. 

Steve raises his head to meet Tony's eyes as he licks a long, wet strip up his cock before taking it all in, and he supposes sex is an acceptable substitute. 

Sometimes. 

Mostly. 

God, twenty-year-old Tony would be disgusted at this quibbling. But in the past year he's figured out that he can get this anytime he wants. This and the hands and the voice and back pressed against his when he wakes up and--yeah, yeah, Tony knows how well he's adjusting to this leash. Still, there are some benefits to this sudden tour of 90s film and you know, the demise of Tony's new fuck-cuddle-sleep routine. 

Clearly the lessons from 'Deepthroat' were taken to heart. 

That one might be from Tony's personal collection. But what can he say? It's his duty as a freedom-loving American to chip in with Captain America's re-education.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, someone please run with this and write a million words that I can read forever.


End file.
